Eventually the gnomes moved beyond range of the last shrieker. The downside of this was that my Sphere was receding too. Binky might be growing more independent, but he wasn’t yet fully terrestrial, and as long as his existence still utilized at least one Creation slot, he was still subject to the influence of my Sphere.
However, this didn’t quite mean the same for him it had before. My early, “celestial” god-born had been unable to pass beyond its boundaries at all; when Ris’kin was still just a regular forrel, I’d seen her bounce right off like an invisible but solid wall. Now, for Binky, it seemed to be more of a force than a wall. It pulled on him, but he resisted as best he could.
However, it was clear this was not a fight he could win; as long as he was struggling against the pull of my Sphere, he was distracted and vulnerable to attack. In the end, I urged him to give in and join the retreat. The gnomes were safely away, and it was time for us to follow.
The Zolom, no longer harried by the conflicting cries of the shriekers, was now homing in on the last remaining source of noise: the two humans bringing up our rear.
“It’s coming your way,” I warned them. “Can you hold it?”
Benin gulped but nodded. He rubbed his hands together; sparks crackled between his palms. The emberfox flinched, huddling deeper inside the mage’s bag.
Coll gripped his hammer with both hands and set his legs wide, facing firmly in the wrong direction. He adjusted his stance when I told him, then assured me, “We can hold it. Get the little ‘uns out of here.”
Though it made sense, part of me rebelled at the suggestion. I hated that we were once again on the run—facing an enemy we couldn’t defeat, hiding behind humans, running rather than attacking.
“There’s no shame in running,” Ket’s voice floated across our bond. “Just because we’re not standing our ground doesn’t mean we’re not fighting. It’s just that our fight is for survival right now.”
“When the choice is between fleeing and living or standing and dying, ‘tis no choice at all,” agreed Bekkit. “We must trust in our human allies.”
“But Ris’kin can—”
“Ris’kin’s presence could hamper rather than help,” said Ket firmly. “Let Benin and Coll handle it. Your denizens need you more. Who knows what we’ll find when we leave this forest?”
Even through the mist, I could see the trees were thinner and the light brighter. For the second time in recent weeks I found myself reluctantly fleeing toward the sun.
When I looked back, the last thing I saw was the shadow of the Zolom rearing up, followed by a flash of fire. Then there was only mist.
Forty-Seven
The Jaws of Death
Benin
“Nothing’s working!”
Yet another spell—Kelarian Candle this time—ricocheted off the serpent’s body in a shower of fiery sparks.
Benin’s fire-based abilities were more powerful than the new air-based ones, but the snake’s natural resistance—not to mention the fact that its scales, along with every other surface in this thrice-damned marsh, were wet—meant the flames splashed harmlessly off its unnaturally hard skin. Even the Lightning Ball spell Bekkit had taught him seemed merely to irritate the snake.
“Okay… so it’s immune to magic, and hitting it with my hammer only stops it for half a moment.” Coll threw him a glance. “I say we trigger those mushrooms and run.”
“We don’t know that the others are safely away yet,” Benin argued. They both stepped aside as the snake snapped at the air between them, drawn by their voices.
“Besides,” Benin added, nodding toward the slight lump in the serpent’s throat. “We have a rescue mission to complete.”
“Are you kidding?!”
Coll ducked just in time to avoid the snake’s lunge. Its head impacted the tree behind him with a crack. For a moment Benin dared to hope the sound had been the serpent’s skull. But no; the cracking grew louder, and with a splintering snap the top half of the tree toppled sideways. The broken trunk remained rooted, jutting up from the water in deadly shards.
He couldn’t blame Coll for sounding so incredulous. A month or so ago Benin himself would have laughed at the very idea of risking himself to rescue one solitary gnome—a gnome who may well already be dead.
But with every day that went by, Benin became more and more conscious of the fact that he had contributed almost nothing to the exodus. He’d been absent during the dire badger attack when he was needed most, and still didn’t have enough control over his abilities to use them in fights without fear of collateral damage.
What am I training for if not to actually help?
Past-Benin would not have thought saving one gnome was worth the risk; that it wouldn’t make a difference. But he’d spent enough time among the tribe and its God Core to know that every gnomish life mattered. He’d witnessed their grief when their scout had failed to return, and again when the old clothier had popped his clogs. He still couldn’t honestly say that he himself would grieve if the swallowed warrior turned out to be beyond saving, but he knew others would, and he wanted more than anything right now to be the reason they were spared that.
“Coll,” he called, leaping away from the snake’s next attack and almost turning his ankle on the slimy ground. “When I say so, make a really big noise right over there.”
He pointed. When the warrior began wading in that direction, Benin checked if Pyra was still safely tucked inside his bag. He was fairly sure she’d be fine if she fell, but given her clear mistrust of
